Support Group
by lrhaboggle
Summary: Beca meets Kommissar again a year after the World's but, now at last, she begins to understand that DSM is not as flawless as she thinks. (THIS FIC DEALS WITH MENTAL ILLNESS, TELL ME IF IT COMES OFF AS INSENSITIVE OR INACCURATE)


**AN: This is a serious PP fic that deals with mental illnesses. Please read respectfully but alert me at once if anything was portrayed inaccurately or offensively. I swear I only intended to write this as a fresh outlook on DSM and as an experimental piece, but if it seems detrimental or cruel or crude or ignorant or just plain wrong, please, please, please tell me.**

"Well, well, well, look who we have here!" a German accent called out to the young American. The American thought she recognized the voice and turned around hard enough to give herself whiplash in her haste to see if her guess was correct. It was. There, standing before her, was none other and the fearsome leader of the German Acapella team known as Das Sound Machine.

"Kommissar!" the American squeaked.

"Ah, it is good to hear that my Maus still as her squeak!" Kommissar smiled smugly down at the much smaller singer.

"Of course I do!" the brunette, Beca, tried to draw herself up only to realize that she had pretty much agreed to an insult. Of course. Of course. Of course she'd make a fool of herself in front of this German goddess even though barely 10 words had been exchanged between them. Kommissar only laughed at the girl and shook her golden tresses.

"I have missed these foolish displays of yours," she told Beca.

"Well I've missed you too!" the young woman tried to retort only to slap her forehead once she realized what she had said.

For once, though, Beca did not hear Kommissar's mocking laugh and she dared to look up. She saw two beautiful blue eyes staring at her with an unreadable expression. Unable to take the awkwardness any longer, she cleared her throat.

"Soooo, what brings you here to America?" she asked. "Another concert tour?"

"Yes and no," Kommissar replied. "It is true that DSM is touring in America right now for charity, but we have a few days before our next show and I thought I might try and come find you, seeing as you are an old rival of mine."

"Wow. Stalker much?" Beca asked, both flattered and creeped out that Kommissar had taken the time to find out where she lived.

"Not so much," Kommissar waved off Beca's remark. "It was not too hard to find you. All I need was Facebook."

"Oh, right," Beca cringed. Her place of work was plastered right there on her profile- "Wait. You Facebook stalk me?"

"I keep up with people I know," Kommissar replied smoothly.

"But we don't know each other!" Beca argued. "At least not very well…" she added.

"Then why don't we get to know each other now, ja? Like I said, DSM does not have its next show for a few days. Perhaps you could show me around this American city?" Kommissar asked.

Then she trailed off, looking at Beca with an inquisitive look that revealed neither a desire to see how many times Beca could make a fool of herself nor a desire for genuine friendship. Beca had no idea what she was getting herself into by agreeing… But she was going to agree anyway. Of course she was! What kind of idiot would say no to someone like Kommissar?

"Ok," she said boldly. "I accept your offer! But just to let you know, you'd better watch out because these streets can be kind of rough. I don't want anything to happen to your gorgeous face!" Beca added before smacking her face again. Why couldn't she go more than maybe one or two sentences without totally word-vomiting over Kommissar?

"Good thing I have you to protect me then," Kommissar replied without missing a beat, smirking. Beca, meanwhile, could only squeal internally that Kommissar considered her good enough to be a body guard even though she knew Kommissar was only teasing.

"Good thing!" Beca tried to sound bold regardless of how serious Kommissar was being, but she failed when her voice decided to betray her and come out in another squeak. Wonderful.

The rest of the day went far smoother, though, and contrary to Beca's fears, she didn't make too much of a fool of herself while showing Kommissar around the city. The woman was an attentive listener and a fast learner. Beca almost began to think that she was genuinely enjoying Beca's company because of how responsive she was. Beca was about to try and ask just to make sure, but then Kommissar's phone began to ring. Beca pouted but she let herself and Kommissar to come to a halt as Kommissar took the call. Beca was unable to eavesdrop as the whole talk was in German and she only understood the hello and goodbye of it.

About five minutes later, Kommissar hung up.

"Sorry, Maus, that was Pieter," she explained as she turned the phone off and then back on again a few times. Beca assumed she was either checking the time or that one of the buttons was defective.

"Oh, what did he want?" she asked, hoping that she sounded off-hand and casual. Although she was pretty sure Pieter and Kommissar weren't dating, Beca wasn't certain and that small uncertainty was enough to make her feel worried. But even if she knew 100% that Kommissar and Pieter weren't dating, Beca still couldn't deny a flash of envy that Pieter might be calling to bring Kommissar away from Beca for any reason. As unreasonable as it was, Beca was already really possessive of Kommissar despite them only knowing each other for a grand total of maybe one hour, or an hour and a half if you counted all their interactions during Beca's senior year at Barden when, like Kommissar had said, the two were rivals.

"He was asking if you knew any good places to eat around here," Kommissar answered. She was smirking again but she had heard the note of anger in Beca's voice and found it funny, even though Beca was hoping that she might've missed it.

"Well, there are McDonald's places on every block," Beca replied.

"He asked for some place good to eat, Maus," Kommissar corrected the brunette.

"McDonald's _is_ good!" Beca defended. Even she, a college graduate, loved a good Happy Meal every once in awhile.

"Perhaps for Americans it is," Kommissar replied, nose crinkling in disgust. Beca almost wanted to take a picture because of how cute it was. Luckily, though, she managed not to verbalize this thought.

"Well, what did Pieter have in mind then?" Beca asked. Despite herself, she was getting a little mad at Guyliner. This day was supposed to belong to her and Kommissar, not him!

"A sit-down restaurant where he could join us for lunch," Kommissar answered, smug smile widening as she received just the reaction she had expected.

"He's joining us?!" Beca cried, aghast. Then, realizing how rude that might've seemed, she snapped up. "I-I-I mean, uhhh, he wanted to eat with us?" she tried again.

"Yes, Maus, if you can bear the idea of sharing me," Kommissar replied. Beca began to blush again and she felt her stomach and heart both leap violently in reply to the way Kommissar had said that.

"Yeah, sure, yeah, it's fine, yeah. I mean, it's not like we're sharing because it's not like I own you because you're your own person and can make your own decisions and if you want to eat out with him that's cool, because yeah…" Beca rambled.

"Excellent," Kommissar replied. As funny as Beca's rambling was, she didn't want the poor American to accidently pass out in attempt to disguise how very lovestruck she was. "Where did you have in mind?"

"Uh, well, uhh, umm, there is a quaint little place just a few blocks down," Beca offered meekly, finally shutting up long enough to speak one simple sentence to the gorgeous woman in front of her.

"Excellent," Kommissar repeated. "Pieter will meet us there at noon. That leaves us 30 more minutes alone," she added with a sly smile. Beca was sure that this woman was going to kill her.

30 minutes later, Pieter had found Beca and Kommissar, meeting them just a block before they reached their destination.

"Hallo!" he greeted Kommissar. She smiled back at him before reaching out to hug him. Beca could see, though, that it was purely platonic. The moment it ended, Kommissar let go with ease, subtly wiping each hand on one of her pant legs. Beca said nothing but she laughed a little before nodding politely at the giant mass of muscle standing before her. He smiled down at her, any antagonism she used to see was gone. Instead, you would've thought that they had been friends forever. It was kind of weird but not unwelcome.

The three entered the restaurant on peaceful terms and the rest of the lunch was actually really good. The food was delicious and, thankfully, cheap and the conversation was wonderful. Beca and Pieter had both ordered sandwiches while Kommissar settled upon soup and salad. Once the bowls were set in front of her, she inspected the food. It looked like she was counting the croutons.

"Is everything ok?" Beca asked, noticing Kommissar's intense scrutiny of her salad.

"Ja. She is just a perfectionist and even her salad must be free of blemishes," Pieter answered for Kommissar. Beca looked up at him and laughed while Kommissar shot her friend and unreadable sideways glance before digging in.

The meal did not end as well as it began, however. Kommissar had just finished her meal and was carefully placing the silverware just so on the bowl when Beca noticed Pieter's face contorting. She wasn't sure if it was indigestion or what but the moment she noticed his chest moving at an alarmingly fast rate, she opened her mouth.

"Uhhh, Kommissar?" she asked.

"Yes, Maus?" the woman asked, looking up from her silverware to the brunette sitting across from her. The brunette pointed her eyes in the direction of Pieter. Kommissar gave her a slightly confused look before turning to her right. The moment she saw Pieter, breathing way too hard and way too fast, her eyes widened. That was all Beca needed to see to know that something was wrong, but even though she could feel the fear radiating off of her friends, she could only watch as Kommissar stood up slowly and carefully nudged Pieter from his seat without touching him for too long. Beca stood to go as well.

"Nein, Maus," Kommissar warned. "Stay here. I will be back…" Beca didn't look too happy about this but she could see from the way Pieter was now shaking that this was not the time to be jealous or curious. Instead, she did as Kommissar asked and sat back down, watching in confusion and worry as the woman led the man outside. He was hyperventilating, she could see his whole body shaking.

Five minutes later, Beca was just about to go and at least peek out a window when Kommissar came back in. Alone.

"Where's Pieter?" Beca asked. She may have not been friends with Kommissar's right-hand man but she would never forget that almost terrified look in his dark eyes. His face may not have revealed much but Beca knew that something had spooked the man.

"He had to go home and I need to go with him," the blond replied, sounding genuinely apologetic. It was the first time she had spoken to Beca with a non-teasing tone and Beca found it quite frightening. "Forgive me, Maus, I really have had a lovely day with you and would be more than happy to do it again, but I need to go now!"

"Of course, of course," Beca replied, standing up to wave Kommissar off.

"I'll pay you back," the German promised as she made for the door again.

"Nonsense!" Beca tried to smile but there was something seriously wrong going on and she couldn't bring herself to feel anything other than worry for the two Germans who were hurrying out of the diner without another goodbye.

The next day, upon the insistence of Kommissar, Beca returned to the diner at the same time as yesterday.

"Maus! Thank goodness! You came back!" the German exhaled when she saw Beca walk into the diner.

"Of course I did," Beca promised, hurt by how genuinely relieved Kommissar sounded, like she hadn't really believed that Beca would come back. The brunette sat across from the blond again.

"Pieter sends his warmest regards and his apology," Kommissar said at once.

"No, no, it's ok. I just… Is he ok?" Beca asked.

"He's fine. Sometimes being in new places scares him and, well, you saw what happened," Kommissar replied calmly.

"Does he have an anxiety disorder?" Beca asked. Then she flinched at her own tactlessness. You didn't just go around asking hot German ladies that you had a crush on if their giant Guyliner friends had anxiety disorders! To her surprise, though, Kommissar nodded slowly, painfully.

"It's been a problem all his life. Usually, I can sense oncoming panic attacks but this time it almost seemed random," Kommissar explained. "I know there must have been something that triggered him, but I can't think what it might've been…" she looked deeply troubled and without even realizing it, she began to rock back and forth in her seat.

"Hey, hey, hey now," Beca reached out in attempt to sooth the blond. She didn't want Kommissar to suffer a panic attack too. Kommissar looked up, meeting Beca's concerned brown eyes, and she slowly relaxed, nodding.

"I'm fine," she promised the American. "I'm fine," then she stopped rocking.

That lunch went far better than yesterday's.

"So, when is your concert?" Beca asked as they both finished their meals, Kommissar once again arranging the silverware.

"Tonight," she replied.

"Tonight?!" Beca sounded devastated. "I won't have time to buy-" before she could finish, however, Kommissar handed her a tiny slip of paper. "Tickets…"

"They're on me," the blond grinned cheekily at her date. "VIP, too," she added, pointing. Beca looked harder at the tickets and realized that she was right. Wow!

"Thanks, Kommissar!" Beca grinned like a kid on Christmas, hugging the ticket to her chest. Kommissar chuckled and nodded.

"I will pay the bill today," she promised. Beca tried to protest but Kommissar only shook her head and pulled out her credit card.

The concert was phenomenal. The singing, dancing, costumes, background effects, and overall choreography of the show was absolutely flawless. Admittedly, though, Beca paid little attention to any of it. Instead, her eyes were glued to Kommissar for the whole show. She hardly noticed anything else when that gorgeous and infuriatingly talented blond was on stage. Even when she was further in the back and one of her background singers was standing front and center, Beca's eyes followed the Kommissar. The only time they every left that flawless German was when she stepped off of stage. Thankfully, that didn't happen too often. Once the concert was over, Beca was screaming just as loud as everyone else was, but even though the concert was over, the night was not. Having a VIP ticket meant Beca got to have a meet-n-greet with DSM. All proceeds were going to their charity.

"Maus!" Kommissar strode over to Beca the moment the young woman poked her head backstage. Beca tried to call back but the other VIP guests were already screaming so loud she only waved back. Kommissar chuckled in amusement before turning to the others. She winked at Beca, a silent promise to get to her later. Beca nodded back knowingly and stepped backwards, allowing the other fans to greet Kommissar first. Once the last VIP had left, however, Kommissar turned to Beca. A stagehand came by, trying to send Beca off, but Kommissar was able to gain them both a bit of alone time.

"That was amazing!" Beca cried, finally getting a chance to tell the blond what she thought of the show. " _You_ were amazing! You were so flawless and talented and your dance moves were epic! The songs were amazingly sung, the Bellas couldn't have done better!" the brunette hardly even realized how pathetic she sounded at the moment and Kommissar didn't bother to stop the flow of compliments, seeming to grow taller with every one that left Beca's rambling mouth.

But once again, the pair was interrupted. A scream of pure _outrage_ echoed across the backstage and Kommissar whipped around at once while Beca fell silent, that familiar sense of dread rising up in her stomach.

"Allie!" Kommissar thundered, then she took off running before Beca could even blink.

"Damn, those legs move fast!" Beca breathed to herself in awe as she watched Kommissar's long legs move in a blur, taking impossibly long strides. When a string of cuss words emanated from the place where the scream had occurred, however, Beca snapped awake and went running after Kommissar. What she saw was nothing short of chaos.

The young woman who had faced off against Chloe in the Riff Off a couple years ago was throwing punches wherever she could while the blond beat-boxer was trying to hold her back. The other singers were in varying states of panic and Beca reached the dressing room just in time to see Pieter running by with his hands firmly over his ears. Beca turned around to call out for him but she knew he would not hear so instead, she turned back to the dressing room where Kommissar had entered in.

"Allie!" the blond giant repeated as Allie screamed and thrashed angrily.

"GO FUCK YOURSELF!" Allie responded. Beca drew in a sharp breath but everyone else only stayed where they were.

"Allie, please!" Kommissar begged. Beca drew in another sharp breath, she had never heard Kommissar sound so pleading. "Tell me what's wrong. What has happened to you? What did they do to you?" she asked. It took a moment, but Allie stopped thrashing around long enough to answer and the blond beat-boxer let her go.

"This fucking stagehand told me I needed to get out of the way but I was in the middle of signing autographs and I fucking told him to wait one goddamned minute but he kept fucking getting mad at me and he started yelling and he pushed one of my fans over!" Allie's voice had begun to rise but Kommissar continued to look at her calmly.

"What did this man look like?" she asked.

"I don't know, he was fat and bald and had a really pinched up face!" Allie growled. Beca could see, from the room's doorway, that Allie was fighting hard to calm down, but it wasn't easy.

"I will see if I can speak with his boss," Kommissar promised. "I promise I won't let this go unpunished, ok?" Allie continued to scowl, gritting her teeth, but she nodded.

"Ok," she grunted through her teeth.

"Thanks, Allie," Kommissar smiled at her. Allie nodded again.

"Excuse me," she said, then she vanished into the dressing room's one bathroom.

The moment they heard the door lock, everyone exhaled in relief.

"She forgot to take her medicines today," the beat-boxer whispered to Kommissar when she looked at him questioningly. As he answered her silent question, he noticed Beca standing in the doorway and nodded at her. Kommissar turned around and suddenly, Beca wished Allie was back out here screaming again because the confusion, surprise, anger, hurt and shame that Kommissar conveyed within that one simple look made her feel incredibly guilty.

"Maus?" even her voice was laced with anger and betrayal. "What are you doing here?"

"I saw you run off and I decided to come with you to see if I could help," the brunette tried, frozen, unable to move further in or out.

"And I'm assuming you saw all of it?" Kommissar asked. Beca nodded.

"Well, damn, guess we've all been outed," another DSM member muttered. He was now lounging on a beanbag chair in the corner of the room. If Beca could recall, though, during Allie's outburst, he had hidden behind a clothing rack.

"Enough," Kommissar cast him a warning glance and he looked away. Then she turned back to Beca. "I fear he is right, though, we have been outed."

"What are you talking about?" Beca asked. She watched Kommissar exchange several with her teammates. She began to frown.

"Where is Pieter?" she asked, realizing that he was not among the rest of them.

"He went running out after Allie started screaming," Beca answered. Kommissar swore under her breath before moving towards the door. Despite how fast and briskly she was moving, she gently pushed Beca out of the way and Beca felt electricity in the place where Kommissar had pushed her gently. She turned back to see the blond walking out of the dressing room and down the hall before rounding a corner and vanishing entirely.

A couple awkward minutes later, wherein several DSM members had since started to do breathing techniques to calm themselves, Kommissar finally returned with her arms wrapped securely around Pieter. It would've been funny to see such a massive and scary-looking man needing to be held in such a way, but Beca knew that this was a very solemn and serious moment, laced with vulnerability that she would be cruel to laugh at. It was then that Beca realized how intrusive she was being and how little she really belonged here right now. She thought she knew so much about DSM but this one night had changed everything and she wasn't even sure if she really knew Kommissar…

"Beca, will you come in please?" Kommissar brought Beca back to the present and could see the blond gesturing with her head for her to come in and sit beside her on the couch just a foot away from the boy on the beanbag chair. Pieter was sitting on Kommissar's left, she was still running a hand steadily up and down his back. Beca sat to Kommissar's right. The beanbag boy offered her a small, sad, smile that she returned awkwardly before turning to the taller woman beside her.

"What is it?" she asked. It dawned on her that Kommissar had not called her "Maus". Something was wrong.

"We have something to tell you," Kommissar replied seriously. Beca nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. "This was something none of us wanted to get out, but I think you need to know just because you've seen too much already and I know it'll be bugging you forever if we don't tell you now," she began. "You see, you think that DSM is just an Acapella group and although you are right on some level, you are wrong on so many more. DSM is so much more than a simple singing team. Instead, we are a support group. We are a surrogate family. We are everything we lacked at home," Kommissar continued on with this flowery prose and Beca could tell it was really hard for her to just come out and say what she had to say. Finally, the blond beat-boxer did it for her.

"We're all mentally ill, Beca," the beat-boxer said.

"Anders!" another DSM member insisted, but he only shook his head.

"Mentally ill?" asked Beca, unsure of whether or not this was a joke.

"Yes," Kommissar confirmed. "Everyone in this room, right now, is struggling with some sort of mental or emotional ailment that makes it hard for them to function or find pleasure in daily life."

"Wow," Beca was unsure of what else to say. Kommissar took pity on her and explained.

"It all started with me, back when I was 10," she said, then she took a deep, pained breath in. "I have OCD," she said.

"OCD?" Beca echoed. "You mean you're a neat-freak?"

"Oh, God!" a groan went up from the other DSM members and Beca instantly felt bad.

"No, no, leave her alone," Kommissar chided them, coming to the American's defense. "Her question is sincere," her sharp gaze traveled around the room but nobody dared challenge her, so she returned to her story. "In colloquial terms, Beca, your assessment is correct, but in medical terms, true OCD is more severe than simply being a neat-freak," she said, then she explained. In true OCD, it was a strong desire to perform tasks repeatedly. Perhaps the tasks made no sense and perhaps the reasons for doing and repeating them made no sense, but that was the problem of it all. It was an irresistible urge.

As Kommissar continued to explain what OCD really was in the medical world and not in casual slang, Beca began to understand. She remembered Kommissar turning her phone off and on several times after Pieter called. She remembered Kommissar carefully wiping her hands on her pants after hugging Pieter. She remembered Kommissar scrutinizing her meal. She remembered Kommissar organizing the silverware once the meal was done. Beca used to think they were mere quirks but the longer Kommissar talked about mental illness, OCD in particular, the more Beca to see just how important doing these things was to the blond.

"And the others?" Beca asked. Kommissar exchanged more looks with her teammates.

"Some of them do not wish to share, but some of them do," the woman replied, able to tell it all from a glance because of how well she knew her singer.

"Ok," Beca nodded. Understanding the silent question posed, Kommissar nodded right back and then explained.

"As you already know, Pieter has anxiety. He takes medicine but sometimes he still suffers random attacks," the German woman began and Beca nodded once again. "Anders has dealt with depression and self harm," the German woman continued. Beca looked over at the blond beat-boxer sadly and he gave her a shrug though his eyes told a different story. "Then, as you have already seen, Allie has anger issues," Kommissar's eyes flickered to the bathroom door. It was still shut but they were all sure Allie understood what Kommissar was doing. "Edvard has insomnia, Ida has bipolar disorder and ADHD, several of our singers have eating disorders, several others either have or do struggle with some kind of addiction, one of us has insomnia, Amelia has minor schizophrenia and dyslexia, and several of us have varying degrees of autism." the blond finished finally.

During the introductions, Beca's eyes flitted around the room as she attempted to figure out which singer suffered from with ailment, but she couldn't because every face that stared back at her, though wildly diverse, was all human. There was no one defining feature that Beca could see, immediately, that led her to be capable of saying something like, "Oh! Him there! He's the one who suffers from an eating disorder!" or "That person over in the corner is probably the girl with bipolar disorder!"

"And all of us, to some degree, suffer from PTSD and antisocial behavior," Anders added. "And when I say 'antisocial' I don't mean that we don't like to talk to people. I mean that we sometimes find it hard to be open with strangers. The emotional walls we've built up are pretty impressive," he added. Beca understood his implications and bowed her head. This was so much more than she had expected. Kommissar saw this submissive action and touched Beca's shoulder.

"Beca, do not be angry or afraid with us," she pleaded. "It was a well-kept secret. Precious few outside of DSM know it."

"I'm not mad," Beca answered sincerely. "I just feel bad that I forced you all to tell me…"

"Don't be," Pieter finally spoke up. "It is nice to talk about it sometimes and not have to hide or feel guilty or ashamed," he met Beca's eyes and Beca could see a childishness in them that made his sufferings all the more tragic. While others looked far older than they were, some singer were more like Pieter and looked far younger because their ailments had prevented them from having what some might consider a normal life.

"Like I said, Beca, this group is a support group as well an Acapella team," Kommissar said, bringing herself back to the original point she was trying to make. "We look after each other and overcome our burdens together because the outside world does not understand and sometimes, it condemns," the blond trailed off sadly and everyone else gained a similarly bitter or mournful look.

"You said it began when you were 10," Beca whispered. Kommissar nodded.

"I was 10 when I was diagnosed with OCD and at first, nobody really thought much of it because it was not anything dangerous. Honestly, it still isn't. What was dangerous was the world's reaction to it. So many people just didn't understand the irresistible drive to do what I did and they didn't understand the crippling fear when I didn't. I've lost count of how many kids would make fun of my incessant straightening and organize and I couldn't tell you how many times adults told me just to stop. Like it was that simple. They would tell me if I just ignored it, it would go away."

"Like that ever helps!" one singer rolled her eyes. When Beca looked at her, she smiled dryly. "I'm Ida. What Kommissar forgot to mention was that I'm also suicidal."

"I'm sorry," Beca said, unsure of what else to say.

"Don't be," Ida replied. "I'm just sayin' that my parents told me the same thing. Said if I stopped being sad all the time the bad thoughts would go away. If only it were that easy!" she fell silent again and Kommissar continued.

"My family and peers could not understand my OCD and only a few ever even tried to. I felt like it was impossible to talk about just because it seemed so… unnatural and un-understandable and because it left no physical mark, people thought I was lying. They thought I was making up my illness. They claimed that it if it really was 'all that bad' my symptoms would be more obvious. I cannot express enough how badly this hurt me. To be told that my pain was not valid simply because it wasn't visible was the worst thing that ever happened to me, but whenever I tried to tell anyone this, they accused me of being overly sensitive. Then, those who did actually take my illness seriously went about it the wrong way. They thought they knew better and would tear me down all the time, as if they understood exactly what I was going through and how to fix it. When I entered college, I wanted to make a support group. Initially, it was just going to be for people with OCD or one of its variations. That was when I met Pieter. He was in charge of helping fund clubs back then and when I told him what I was planning on doing, he jumped right on board so I changed the club to anyone suffering from any kind of mental illness. Unfortunately, having a club like that didn't draw many attendees," Kommissar stopped to chuckle darkly. "Pieter suggested that I form a club around one of my favorite hobbies and have the 'support group' theme be secondary. It wasn't the most pleasant of thoughts but it was a good idea. Can you guess what I chose?"

"Acapella," Beca answered at once. Kommissar nodded.

"Slowly but surely, DSM grew and as I dared to open up to people, I was able to get the word out that this group wasn't just for singing, it was also for mental and emotional support when people just couldn't, or wouldn't, understand. Some of the people in this room have been with me from the beginning. Others have left. Others have joined. But none of that matters. DSM was built for people in need of a family, singing just gives us something to do and something to focus on."

When Kommissar finished her story, Beca was totally floored. In just 10 minutes, all of her notions about DSM and its fearless, flawless leader were totally turned on their heads. So, all along, DSM had been a support group as well as a singing group.

"We just never made it very public because you know the press would either go crazy condemning us, denying our conditions, claiming we were pulling the Special Snowflake Card, acting as martyrs, using our illness to sell record, or turning all of it into some sob-story of triumph that, once again, would make us look like selfish assholes," Allie snarked, stepping from the bathroom. Ida smiled at her and Allie nodded, walking over to the woman. The others nodded too, answering Beca's unasked question. In the back of her mind, Beca realized that this charity tour might've been raising money for campaigns that raised awareness on mental health.

"So, now what?" the brunette asked.

"What do you mean, Maus?" Kommissar asked, finally going back to Beca's nickname.

"I mean, now that I know, is there anything else I need to know? Or is there anything I can do? Or…?"

"You can start by not blabbing about us," Anders suggested. Beca nodded solemnly but then she noticed his smile. Although he was serious, he wasn't trying to scare Beca. None of them were. They were only trying to get her to understand. That was all they had ever done. But it was hard work.

"Maybe I can help," Beca offered. "I know DSM has done charity work in the past, so if you want, I can help with that."

"That's sweet of you, Maus, but you don't have to," Kommissar smiled gently at the American.

"But I want to! Now that I understand, I want to help! Is there anyway?" Beca pleaded.

"I'd say yes, Kommissar," Pieter chuckled. "She's bound to explode if you don't."

"Ok, ok, I will," Kommissar agreed and the whole room began to cheer. Beca was touched. "She can hitch a ride with us, if her boss will let her, and she can help us run the show!" the whole room cheered again.

"Well, welcome aboard, Maus!" Kommissar turned to grin at her new little friend. "You're an honorary DSM singer now!"

"The Bellas would hate me," Beca chuckled, but she was feeling so much better now that she understood and now that she knew she was about to help in something real and something important.

"I consider that a bonus," Pieter laughed. Beca and the others echoed the sound.

Eventually, though, Beca had to go home.

"Goodnight, Kommissar, and thank you," the tiny American told the tall German.

"Guten noct, to you, Maus. And thank _you_ for listening and not running away," the German replied fondly. Beca nodded shyly and made to leave, but then Kommissar called her back. "Wait, Maus, I have one more thing for you!" she insisted. Then before Beca could ask what, the woman had kissed her cheek gently.

"Uhhhh, what?" Beca mentally blanked, blushing hot as fire.

"That was a kiss, Maus. You know what they are, ja?" Kommissar teased.

"Ja," Beca bobbed her head slowly. Kommissar only laughed.

"Guten noct," she repeated, then she turned to go. She hadn't taken more than five steps away from the starstruck brunette, however, before she called one last line over her shoulder. "By the way, mein name ist Luisa Meyer. I believe that you have a right to know now that we are to be business partners, ja?" and Beca could only bob her head in agreement.

"Ja…"

 **AN: This got way longer and way sadder than I intended and once again, I implore you all to tell me if anything seems insensitive or inaccurate. I just really wanted to write a fic where we see that neither Kommissar nor DSM are as flawless as they seem but they're just too afraid to talk about it because the world tends to mistreat them whenever they do. Also, I've always wanted to try and write characters like this. Because it's my first time and it's a one-shot, though, I apologize if anything seems rushed, forced, or underdeveloped or added in purely for shock value/minority quotas. Please tell me if it comes off that way.**

 **(The reason Kommissar's name only comes in at the end is not for a dramatic reveal but because it's symbolic of trust. She doesn't give out her real name until she's sure she can trust Beca and her band mates understand this, calling her by her title as a way of promising that they won't out her. They won't call her "Luisa" in front of strangers until she says it's ok to do so).**


End file.
